


ENIGMA MORTIS

by DragonForce



Category: 007 - Fandom, James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Bond/Moneypenny - Freeform, Bond/Swann, Gen, NO Swearing, Q's just caught in the middle, clean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:27:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21721450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonForce/pseuds/DragonForce
Summary: "If I had a bullet for every time you promised that nothing was going to go wrong, Bond--""You'd either have a darn lot of bullets," 007 cut him off. "Or you'd be dead."Shortly after the events of SPECTRE, Bond has returned to MI6. Not because he and Swann broke up, not because he missed his license to kill, but because a friend is in danger. Things have changed since he was last there. And an old enemy is back for revenge. But it's not one of his. In a surprising turn of events, Bond finds himself forced to protect his quartermaster from an unseen force. But how is he supposed to do so when it seems that the threat is coming from inside MI6 itself?Q recognizes the danger, in the agency, and in himself. He knows the country is in jeopardy. And he knows he's the only one who can stop this act of terrorism...if he can actually get his hands on a computer without getting caught. But sometimes, the betrayal runs deep like the wounds of the past and, as 007, Q, and MI6 are about to discover, not everyone can be trusted.Theme Song: "Courtesy Call" by Thousand Foot Krutch
Relationships: James Bond/Moneypenny
Kudos: 18





	1. Prologue: Breached

_"My back is gettin' pushed up against the wall. I'm never giving up, I give my all. I'm never looking back, attack. My fear, it's in the past."_ ~ You Ain't Ready by Skillet

If anyone had been awake at precisely 2:56 a.m. that lonely Saturday morning, they might have noticed that something was wrong. Then again, if anyone had been awake, they'd have heard the tremendous crash of the door to the flat down the hall and would perhaps have even thought to contact the police. But there was no one there. They'd made sure of it long before they went after their target, the scrawny, dark-haired man who had just been thrown against his door, causing the whole thing to shatter and send him falling backward into the hall, stunned, with blood seeping from his hairline.

Even through his half-conscious state, Q could tell that these men were more than your average intruders. Each was heavily armed, wearing protective body armor, and had somehow managed to crack even his best security measures. They'd come in silently while he'd been working, managed to not even wake the cats, and grab him before he knew they were there. In the struggle, his laptop had been smashed and he'd been roughed up pretty good. They knew exactly what they were doing and what they were after, and he had the feeling that, whatever it was, he wasn't going to like its results. But he couldn't run. He couldn't even stand up, and every nerve in his body felt on fire.

Before Q could recover enough to move, he heard the distinct sound of a gun being loaded near his head. A glock by the way the cartridge was loaded. "Get up," the voice snapped. A hand grabbed a fistful of his shirt and drug him up. He squealed in terror, his feet swinging limply in the air. His glasses sat so askew that he could see nothing out of them. The intruders; faces were just blurs to him and were useless for identification later. Assuming he lived long enough to identify them. The man holding him leaned in as though to be sure. Q grimaced and frantically felt his pockets for anything he could use as a weapon. But he wasn't like Bond. He didn't carry a pistol around with him everywhere. He hated shooting them even more.

To his luck, his fingers brushed against his lone creation, an ink pen. He almost smiled to himself. Embedded within the ball of the pen was a dagger. He'd intended to give it to Moneypenny for her birthday before the double-oh program had been shut down. Now, he carried it everywhere with him. Just in case.

As he started to take it from his pocket, however, he felt the grip on his shirt loosen and his brief moment of relief quickly vanished as the man elected to grab him by the throat and shove him up against the wall instead. He choked as the pressure increased, wheezing, desperately trying to inhale. "Drop it," his captor spat icily. When Q didn't react immediately, the man tightened his grip. The hacker brought his hands up to try weakly to pry the vice-grip away. Already he could see the darkness overtaking the outer edges of his vision. "I said _drop it_!"

Q obeyed, his heart sinking as he heard the clink of the pen hitting the ground, along with any hope he had of escaping. It was getting harder to breathe now, and it looked like the man had no intention of letting him go any time soon. "Please..." he wheezed, eyes widening as he realized he couldn't feel his hands anymore. "I...don't...I don't..." He blinked, struggling to stay awake. "Know...a-any...thing."

A laugh echoed from a second figure. Q tried to twist his head to see where it had come from but couldn't. He flicked his gaze to behind the man holding him, making out a dark blur which he assumed was another person. "You're lying," came a voice. Definitely female from what Q could tell. It took all of two words for him to know that this woman was cocky, arrogant, and, as much as he feared to say it, almost if not smarter than him. "You work for MI6. Their Quartermaster." She took a step toward him and he squinted, trying to see more than just her blond hair. "Surely you don't take us for fools, Quinten Miller?"

Q felt himself freeze at the use of his real name. How had they found him out? His name was so classified that not even M knew it! He stared at them with a new sense of dread. If they knew who he was, what else did they know?

The woman had apparently seen enough. "Let him go," she snapped at the man who released Q rather reluctantly. The hacker hit the ground on all fours, heaving, disheveled, and utterly disoriented. "There, there," the woman went on, crouching down beside him and patting him on the back in a kind of creepy reassuring way. "Can't rightly kill you can I?" she hissed in his ear. "Not when you can be of much more value to us alive."

Q shook his head quickly, refusing to look up at her.

"'No'?" the woman pretended to be confused. "'No' what?"

"Whatever you want...me...to do...I won't...do it." Q tried to sound confident but his voice came out in a pathetic squeak instead.

The woman laughed. It was a truly awful sound. "Oh," she hissed. "Oh, I think you will." And then, to the man. "Serg, take care of him." Her voice was cruel, empty, heartless. She wasn't afraid to kill him if he didn't do what she wanted. And he wasn't about to compromise MI6 for any number of door-smashing, laptop-killing, smart-aleck, terrorists.

He caught a glimpse of a shadow moving from his right and he reacted almost on instinct, swinging around to punch the man in the face. It took a whole second for the situation to turn against him. The man sidestepped the strike, caught his fist mid-punch, twisted his wrist into a painful angle, and flipped the quartermaster over his shoulder. Q hit the ground, groaning. He heard the man pull the trigger and he hastily rolled away, feeling the bullet collide against the tile near his head.

He scanned the hall frantically, searching for something to use to defend himself. His eyes fell on his pen which, in the skirmish, had been kicked against a wall. The woman followed his gaze. They both spotted the pen at the same time. Both lunged for it. Q got there first, feeling a wave of relief wash over him as he rolled over and pushed the end, releasing the dagger. He stumbled to his feet, pointing the pen warningly at the two.

The woman laughed. "Clever," she hissed. "But not clever enough." She turned to her partner. "Kill him."

 _Not such a clever boy._ Q froze as Silva's words flashed through his brain and he found himself standing in the lab, frantically scrambling for a computer that could rid MI6 of the evil hacker's virus, only managing to further disable the infrastructure.

The quartermaster's hesitation was all the intruders needed. There was a gunshot and Q felt his body falling backward. His hand opened and he dropped the knife. He didn't know immediately what had happened. For a minute, his brain shut down and the pain was slow in coming. Once it hit, however, it was like a tidal wave. He felt the warm sticky trickle of blood erupt from his shoulder and the nausea followed seconds later. He'd been shot. Luckily, it seemed the man was a bad shot and had missed the important organs.

"You _fool_!" the woman screamed. There was a shuffle of moment where Q guessed she'd taken the gun from her henchman. "How could you miss? I thought you were highly trained! Never mind! Get out of the way. I'll do it myself."

Q couldn't move. He could feel the pain shoot through the rest of his body, and, as his eyes slowly closed for what he guessed would be the last time, the only reassuring thing that came to him was: _at least MI6 is safe_.

There was the sound of a door crashing down the hall. Guns cocked. Shots rang out. Shouting ensued. He didn't hear the gunshots from his right. He didn't hear the return fire. He didn't even notice when someone gingerly lifted him into their arms and carried him away from his flat. He could barely hear the quiet and fearful voice of his rescuer.

"Stay with me, Q. We're here now. We've got you. You're going to be alright."

 _Moneypenny_. Q wanted to warn her, to warn MI6. They were all in danger. Everyone. What had those people wanted? It was simple. Some people where not who they said they were. It was something that everyone in the double-oh program understood. Him included. After all, he had a few secrets of his own. Secrets that, if revealed, could endanger the lives of everyone he'd begun to consider his friends. The only trouble was, as soon as he was patched up, he knew M would be pounding at his door, demanding answers. But what could he tell him? The last M had known his past when she'd 'hired' him. She had known the risks and had made a desperate gamble on him. It had proven to be a good decision, if for MI6 and not her.

Still, he knew it was all his fault. He should have known better than trusting anyone. It was the same story every time. Get too close, make friends, end up burying them. Some said he was too antisocial, preferring to hide behind a screen. In reality, it was just safer. No one could get hurt from a computer and no one's blood would be on his hands.

He'd heard for years that giving up some secrets could be releasing, but, as he'd proven on many occasions, some could get you killed.


	2. Chapter 1: 007, Reporting for Duty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas Eve!

_"Be careful making wishes in the dark, dark. Can't be sure when they've hit their mark." ~"_ Light'Em Up" by Fall Out Boy

It had been six months.

Six months since Obenhauser. Six months since Nine Eyes had almost successfully launched. Six months since he'd left MI6 behind for Swann. Six months since any of his coworkers had had the audacity to contact him. He'd assumed they were simply too busy working another case or stopping some hell-bent psycho to think to get a hold of him, and, surprisingly, he wasn't too concerned by this, having deemed it only protocol by this point.

So, naturally, he was startled when the head office of the British secret service called him at 3:30 in the morning. On a _Saturday_. Lest to say, when the phone vibrated on the table, he was very uninterested in answering it. Let it ring, he told himself. It wasn't like they had taken the time to miss him. He wasn't going to make a big deal of it. If they didn't want to invade his private life, then he wasn't going to be the one to abuse those wishes.

But still...they were the ones calling _him_.

He lay there in bed for a few moments, staring up at the ceiling and listening to the irritating buzz of the vibration mode. Thankfully, Swann (who was now his wife, under a pseudonym of course) was sound asleep beside him and did not seem conscious of the noise at all. With a grunt, he decided to roll over and at least take a glance at who on earth would be calling him in the middle of the night.

**Blocked ID.**

How quaint.

Bond grunted and rolled his eyes, running through a mental list of his options. One, this was a prank call by a bunch of troublesome kids. Two, the apartment owner had just now realized that the rent was up. Or three, MI6 was in such a jam that it had been forced to revert back to ancient times before everything in Q-branch went cyber.

Knowing his true absence of luck, he guessed it to be the third option.

Grumbling, he stretched out lazily to snatch up the phone and bring it to his ear in one swift movement. "Hello?" he mumbled.

"James, it's Moneypenny."

Of _course_ it was. Just as quick through the pleasantries as always. Bond merely let out another grunt and sat up straighter, leaning his back against the top of the bed. " _Eve_ ," he said, putting on a false cheery tone. "What a pleasant surprise--"

"There's no time for any of that nonsense right now, Bond," Moneypenny cut him off. "We've got a bit of a... little problem." Her voice cracked at the end of her sentence, revealing that it may have been more than just a _little_ problem.

But Bond was quite enjoying retirement, and he was not about to be swayed from it so easily. "Is that so? Well, have a good day then, Moneypenny." With that, he hit the end-call button and set the phone back onto the bedside table as he pulled the blankets over him, settling back down to go back to sleep.

"Who was it?" Swann mumbled groggily.

"No one," Bond answered quickly. "Just some nosy kids."

Swann made a small noise, letting Bond know that she believed him, and then turned over and went back to sleep. After that, Bond lay there in silence for a minute.

The phone rang again.

Growling, Bond fought the urge to smash the device underneath his fist. Instead, he showed immense self-control and simply answered it once more. "Look, whatever it is, Eve, I'm sure another agent can handle it. I'm not 007 anymore, remember? The program was shut down. So, _please_ , find someone else and--"

"007, it's Q."

Bond immediately shut up. For a moment, he didn't know if he even breathed. Q? What had happened? Was the young man all right? Granted, Bond knew they had their differences, but after all the Quartermaster had done for him in Austria, he confessed that he had started to think the geek as a...dare he say it?...a _friend_. And to think that something might have happened to him, it was enough to shut down his brain.

"James? James? Are you there?" Moneypenny's voice was flooded with worry.

"I'm here."

"Good. Now, listen up. I don't know where you are and I don't really care. You've been reinstated and your license to kill has been reactivated. Someone tried to kidnap Q and M wants you to find out why."

"'Tried"?" James echoed as he groggily rolled out of bed and pulled on some clothes. "Eve, is Q all right?"

"If by "all right", you mean holing himself up in his lair, probably plotting how to murder everyone on the planet and their brother electronically, then yes," was her quippy response.

Bond chuckled, shifting the mobile to his other hand as he began stuffing wads of clothing into a battered suitcase. "Sounds like he's fine to me. All right. I'm on the next flight out. I'll be there by tomorrow." With that, he hung up. He turned and found Swann awake and alert, glaring at him through narrowed slits. She'd heard everything.

So much for believing him.

"I'm sorry," he said, quickly snapping his case closed. "But it's an emergency."

Swann sighed. "It always is." It didn't take a highly trained agent to read the pained expression written across his face. "MI6?" When he didn't reply, she snorted, taking his silence as a yes. "James, I thought we had put all of this nonsense behind us..."

"I don't want to go," Bond reasoned. "But this isn't just for anyone. It's for Q." That was all he said, as if that explained everything. Swann frowned, no doubt remembering the skinny dark-haired man she'd met in Austria. He was...something important to the British government if she recalled correctly. Quartermaster, or something like that. Whatever _that_ meant. And she knew Bond had a personal obligation to the boy's safety, especially after the last time he'd left and his best friend, Q's predecessor, had been killed.

"All right," Swann said slowly. " _Go._ Do what needs to be done. I'll be here when you get back." There was disappointment muddled in her tone. No doubt she was remembering his promise that his days as a spy were behind him, but she seemed to understand that this was something he had to do.

Bond nodded his appreciation to her and went straight for the door, slamming it as he left.

It was a dark, cold morning. He wrapped his coat tighter, feeling the familiar twinge of cold metal as his hip and he immediately reached for the handle of his pistol. Whoever had been foolish enough to ambush Q was going to wish they'd never been born. He would make sure of that.

Suddenly, even the darkest backstreets of the city seemed almost safe.

***

"Hey! _Hey_! You can't go in there! _Stop!"_

Bond threw open the doors to Medical, ignoring the flustered guard who rushed down the hall after him. He spotted Moneypenny sitting near the back of the room, tightly holding the hand of an unconscious Q. Bond would have found it really cute if he hadn't been seconds away from being blown away by the guard's gun as the hard metal was jabbed firmly between his shoulder blades . With a sigh and an eye roll, Bond spread his hands in a sign of surrender, giving Moneypenny a would-you-give-me-some-help-here look.

She complied, peeling Q's vice-grip away and standing up, straightening out her shirt as she coughed and attempted to look professional. "It's all right, Crawley," she said flatly. "He's got clearance."

"Ma'am," the guard lowered his gun and gave her a stiff nod before spinning on his heel to return to his desk, and his program. _Gone with the Wind_ , Bond noted with a presumptuous snort.

"Colorful characters you have here," Bond commented, continuing into the room to meet Moneypenny halfway. He noticed how protectively she stood in front of Q. Even with him, she feared someone might storm the room and break the boffin. Bond pointed over his shoulder. "He new?"

Moneypenny didn't even dignify that. "You've been gone a long time, James," she answered, signaling for him to follow her as she turned and started back toward Q's bed. She took up her position once more, rubbing Q's hand reassuringly. He didn't stir. Didn't give any more sign of being alive than the gentle rising and falling of his chest. And even that was weak.

"I can see that," Bond said, straddling a chair backward. "What happened, Eve?"

Instead of the answer he'd been searching for, she merely shook her head sadly. "I don't know, really. We got reports that the security system at his flat had been tripped. Seconds later, it was nonexistent. MI6 collected a few agents, myself included, and we went just to check on him and make sure it was a false alarm. He..." she choked on her words. "He was barely alive, James. I...I carried him and it looked like, well, I thought he was dead."

"But he wasn't."

"Thank Heaven, no. But ever since we got here, he has barely moved. He demanded that I take him to his lab, that he had work to do. I refused and brought him here. He wasn't pleased."

"He was holding your hand," Bond pointed out. _More like strangling it_ , he thought, remembering how tight the grip had been.

Moneypenny nodded. "They had to remove a bullet. No painkillers. I was the only one here." She shrugged as though it were nothing at all. "Besides, I thought you might want to talk to him. You did leave abruptly. M said you didn't even return your equipment."

"Oh?" Bond raised an eyebrow. "What else did M say? Because I said goodbye to Q."

"No, you got your car back," Moneypenny corrected. "And then you left, without so much as a second thought to the rest of us. Q tried to find you, you know. We all did."

"I was retired, Eve."

"And we were still your friends, James."

"Are you angry?"

The silence was all the answer he required. Moneypenny looked away, as though ashamed of her outburst. The only sound in the bare room was the incessant ticking of a clock, the only timekeeper as the minutes passed before either would say a word. Moneypenny settled for staring guiltily at her hands while Bond focused on staring out the frosted window, watching agents and minions alike scurrying through the halls. He reminisced his time as an agent and all the friends he'd made and lost in his mission. So many...and he had to make sure that no one else would be harmed for him.

"Well, isn't this welcoming."

There was a sudden movement from his left and, even before he could turn, Moneypenny was on her feet, breathing a sigh of relief and a quite prayer of thanks. The low voice was broken, raspy, and lacking its normal snark, but there was only one person it could belong to.

"Welcome back, Q," Bond said with a small smile. The younger man returned the look with a wry smile, his dark eyes dull and pained, but still very much determined. At first, the Quartermaster's eyes drifting around the room as though not recognizing his location, and then he closed them again and let out a silent groan.

"Bond," Q rasped. "You're here. How _lovely_. I'm dead, aren't I? That makes sense, I suppose, if you're here. Is this Heaven? It's rather..." He frowned. " _Bland_."

"Not quite," Moneypenny spoke up, stepping forward and taking his hand. Q's eyes briefly flicked at her touch, but he seemed unable to turn and face her. "You're alive, Q. We got you out."

"Moneypenny?" Q whispered, his voice reverting to something of a child's. "Why...why...do I hurt?"

"You were shot, Q," Bond interrupted, receiving a pointed and sharp look from Eve. He shrugged in response.

"Oh. That makes sense then." Q sighed and made a face as he tried to shift to a more comfortable position and reached for his glasses from the bedside table. He seemed extremely calm about the entire thing. Bond supposed he was in shock. "007?"

"Yes, Q?"

"Why are you here?" There was no hostility in his words, only curiousness. "I thought you'd gone," he added, repeating his words from the last time the two of them had spoken.

"I came back," was the simple response.

"Why?"

"M asked for me."

"Ah. Well, I suppose...carry on then."

"Q, my license to kill has been reinstated. I'm going to find whoever did this to you. But I'm going to need your help. Do I have your permission to proceed?" Q wheezed weakly and he sounded like he was trying to laugh. Bond rolled his eyes. "Oh, shut up, Q. This is serious."

"I know," Q coughed, though he was still grinning like a maniac. "I just never thought I'd see the day, the great James Bond can stoop so far as to ask permission. Someone pinch me. I must be dreaming." He hummed, still clearly out of it. His words were jumbled as he began to drift off again. "James Bond. Here. Hmmm. 007. In Medical. 007. Go shoot something or whatever it is you do. Leave me alone. I have...work to do. No...exploding...pens." 

"Q?" But the man was already asleep. Bond was aware of Q sinking back into his pillows as he turned to address Moneypenny once more. "Where's M?"

"In his office," Moneypenny answered, nodding toward a higher floor in the building. "I expect he's waiting for you, as a matter of fact."

Bond nodded and straightened up, tugging at his suit as he did so. "Very good. Eve." With that, he turned on his heel and started for the door. 

He'd only made it three quarters of the way before a small cough from Moneypenny made him pause and twirl back to face her with a raised eyebrow. "Er...just...it's," she took a deep breath and looked him firmly in the eyes. "It's good to see you, James."

His upper lip quirked into a smirk. "You as well, Eve."

And with that, he threw open the doors once more and took off down the hall, startling and sending a few lingering minions fleeing. With a snort, he reached the end of the corridor and went straight for Mallory's office. 


	3. Chapter 2: Phantoms From the Past

"Quinten Miller?"

The voice was stern and dangerous. It had stopped him dead in his tracks that cold rainy night, only feet from his door. The woman standing there was deadly. She had a look about her, one that told him he wouldn't get anywhere with trying to buy her off. And Quinten, standing there in a dripping trench coat, soaked and shivering, possibly freezing to death, blinking owlishly behind his large frames, knew he was no match for her. Even if she was terribly older than he. 

"May I help you?" His voice broke, betraying his fear. How did anyone know his name? Who was this woman that she knew so much about him? And why did he get the sense that she could bury him if he didn't choose his next words very carefully?

"Yes, I believe so," the woman spoke. Even her words were as sharp as daggers. He truly feared for his safety now. But as he tried to stumble backward, his legs turned to mush and he nearly fell onto his back. The woman ignored this and went on. "Tell me, Mr. Miller, how much money does one make for hacking into MI6 and committing treason these days?"

 _Treason?_ His heart stopped. He didn't know how he'd been caught. Frantically, he searched the back of his brain for any place he could have slipped up in his coding. His breath constricted when he realized that he couldn't think of any. _How could she possibly know it was me?_ He opened his mouth to answer, but no words came out, only a faint rasping noise he suspected was supposed to be a scream. 

"Well," the woman went on without missing a beat. "I suppose that leaves you with a limited number of options, doesn't it?" When he said nothing, she continued. "Option one; I can arrest you for your crimes and you can rot in prison for the rest of your life if you're lucky." 

He wasn't. Otherwise, he wouldn't be standing here now, having this conversation. In his mind's eye, he could see himself trying to run. He'd never get far, he knew, his eyes finally resting on the lump under her blouse that was no doubt a concealed weapon of some kind. Whoever this woman was, she'd come prepared for the worst. 

"Or option two; you come back with me and use your gifts to help people and your country."

His brain was fizzing out, working in slow motion. "Back...with you?" He didn't want to sound desperate, but jail was something he really _couldn't_ afford. They'd eat him alive. A boffin of smaller stature would never last a week in a cell. And both of them knew it.

"To MI6."

He blinked. "Are you..."

"I am offering you a job," the woman cut him off. "And, possibly, a way out of prison."

"Oh." He blinked, pushing his glasses up further on his nose.

"It would be probationary, of course. You'd start in the lowest position in our cyber department. You would be just like an intern. No one would have to know about your past... _escapades_. And in return, I'll wipe the slate clean."

"Just like that?" Quinten sounded incredulous. 

The woman seemed slightly amused. "Would you rather I handcuffed you and drug you out of here at gunpoint?" 

_No._ The answer was written all over his face.

She snorted. "That's what I thought." She stepped away from the door, opening it and revealing the hacker's small and messy flat. "Get your things," she ordered. "Don't try to run. I'll wait."

He did what he was told. The looks he received as he left the flat with the older woman were insulting. She guided him to a black unmarked vehicle. He glanced at her uncertainly. "For goodness sake, I'm not trying to kidnap you, Miller! _Just get in the car_." He obeyed with shaky knees, sliding across the seats and allowing her to slide in next to him. 

As they started away from the building, the woman's phone rang. She answered it before the second ring. "Go ahead," she snapped. As the voice on the other end spoke, her face morphed from placid calmness to something a little more fearful. "Are you sure?" The confirmation was given and she swore. Quinten looked at her worriedly. "All right," she went on. "Alert Tanner. Oh, and Ms. Moneypenny? Do tell Q that I found that hacker he's been looking for." She turned and met his gaze in amusement. "I suggest you make yourself comfortable, Mr. Miller. It's going to be a while."

Quinten nodded wearily. He didn't know why, but he trusted this woman, even if he didn't yet know her name. Using his bag as a pillow, he leaned his head against the window and soon drifted off.

He was woken a short time later by the sudden jerk of the car and, as he wiped the sleep from his eyes, adjusting his glasses and rubbing his cheek that had been against the glass for...he glanced briefly at his watch...an hour-and-a-half, he glanced up as the woman opened the door and climbed out.

"Come along," she spoke swiftly, gesturing for him to follow.

He did and found himself standing on a deserted street, facing a large white building, mist drifting down on his glasses as he stared up at it. "Where are we?" he questioned, pulling his coat tighter, feeling the biting wind cut through his body as he shivered. 

"This is MI6," the response was short. "Follow me."

He stumbled up the steps after her. The inside of the building was much different than it appeared from the outside. Multiple levels of security. ID scanners. Metal detectors. He wondered how anyone could get past them. To his surprise, however, the woman glided right by security without batting so much as an eyelash, dragging him along with her. 

"M, welcome back." A woman appeared out of the shadows and hurried toward them. Her eyes fell on Quinten who uncomfortably shied away from her curious stare. He wasn't one for human interaction (hence why he'd chosen a career as a hacker. No one would ever see him) and the way she was looking at him, hopefully. It was a bit unsettling.

"Thank you, Ms. Moneypenny," the woman, M, replied without breaking her stride. "Mr. Miller, this is Ms. Moneypenny."

"Hello," Moneypenny said, sticking out her hand. "I'm Eve."

"Hello," Quinten replied, taking her hand, but keeping his gaze down. He didn't tell her his name, though he could tell she was reaching for it. 

"Moneypenny," M interjected. "Have you spoken to Q?"

She nodded, letting go and backing off. "Yes. And he's quite interested to meet the one who breached all of his firewalls." She pointed at Quinten. "This him?"

M nodded. 

"Well," Moneypenny went on with a twinge of remorse. "It was a pleasure to meet you. Anything you'd like me to say at your funeral?" 

_Why didn't I stick with art as my major_? Quinten swallowed hard. Was this Q really going to kill him? Suddenly, the prospect of going to jail sounded much more promising. 

"Oh, posh, Ms. Moneypenny, don't be ridiculous," M waved her off with a hand. "Now, if you'd be so kind, escort Mr. Miller to Q-branch. I must attend a security meeting. And, please be a dear and keep an eye on him. He's not exactly...a _willing_ participant."

Quinten couldn't stop himself from scowling at her as the older woman turned abruptly away and flagged down a nearby worker and began hounding him for information. He hardly had time to process that M had been in a place of high importance before he felt the gentle, yet firm, hand of Moneypenny grasp his arm and guide him toward a pair of elevators. All the way, she was attempting to strike up conversation, and he was shooting it down just as rapidly. 

"So, what makes you interested in our tech department?" 

"Who said I was interested?"

"You look like a techie person."

"So did Spiderman." 

"Just to be clear, you haven't been bitten by any radioactive spiders recently have you?" She smiled cunningly at him. He, in return, just sighed and rolled his eyes, but he couldn't keep the tug of a smile from his lips. Moneypenny noticed and seemed to take it as a good sign.

"I always thought of myself as more of a Professor X," he admitted.

Moneypenny laughed. They entered the elevator in good spirits. And, all things considered (all things considered meaning having been drug from his apartment, virtually blackmailed into a job that he'd never admit he wanted, and tossed between women like a bad cold), he wasn't having half as bad of a time as he'd been anticipating. 

They exited four floors later. Moneypenny took the lead and Quinten followed slowly. They stepped into a room filled to the brim with technology, and, for a moment, he wondered if he'd died and gone to heaven. But, to his great disappointment, after searching the entire room, he could find only one laptop. And it wasn't even that impressive. He estimated he could crack it in...thirty seconds. 

"I wouldn't if I were you." Moneypenny, who seemed to know what he was thinking, warned. "That's Q's laptop. He may be old-- _er_ , but he still could find a thousand ways to murder you without leaving any evidence behind. I wouldn't get on his bad side if I were you. Especially not on your first day."

Quinten gulped, adding this piece of information to his long-term memory. Every minute longer in this place made him more and more conscious of the fact that he could easily never leave alive. It wasn't a happy thought. 

"Ah! Eve! Welcome! Just in time. Just in time! Come come! I have something to show you!"

The voice seemed to come out of no where. Quinten jumped as the man materialized at his side in an instant. An older man. Late fifties? Sixties? He'd always been bad with ages. Whatever his age, the man had the glint of extreme wisdom in his eyes as he grabbed Moneypenny by the arm and began to drag her toward a table off to the side. Quinten remained in place, unsure.

"You! You're the one who's been melting my systems, correct?" the voice never missed a beat

Quinten nodded stiffly, shamefully.

"Well, you might as well come too, seeing as you're going to be working as my assistant from now on."

 _Assistant?_ He blanched. Hadn't M said he'd be starting at the bottom rank? How had he ended up so high on the food chain immediately?

"What?" the man snorted, clearly noticing his wide-eyed expression. "You didn't think I'd let a brilliant mind like yours rot in IT did you? Come on! Come on!" He held out an arm and Quinten slowly, obediently, walked forward. "I don't bite, boy." He chuckled at his own joke. Quinten tried to smile and Moneypenny, having probably grown accustomed to such jokes, remained emotionless. Quinten wondered how long it would take before the calm demeanor faded and Q realized he was much more trouble than he was worth.

"From now on," Moneypenny spoke. "Your name will be R. As far as the rest of the world is concerned, Quinten Miller died in an auto accident late last night." She walked over and patted him gently on the shoulder. "Good luck," she added, before saying farewell to Q and heading back toward the elevators.

"Well," Q spoke, giving the apprehensive young man a wry smirk. "Shall we begin?" There was no anger there. His tone was strictly business. Quinten took a deep breath, ready to make the best out of his punishment.

Time passed and he found himself in charge of more and more of Q-branch. He challenged and argued with Q every step of the way, and quickly discovered that he was the only one bold enough to do so. Especially when it came to computers and he knew he was right. It was no secret that Q respected the younger man, and R considered the elder a father figure. There was little doubt that R was on the fast track to becoming head of the department. Of course, no one expected Q to retire for five or ten more years. R was content with just sitting back and serving his time from behind a screen.

But then, in one massive, explosive moment, Q was gone, and R, was promoted. And his first assigned agent was the exasperating and highly unpredictable 007. The young quartermaster suspected he was being punished somehow, though he couldn't prove it.

The screen all around him flashed red. Red. The same color as the panic flashing through his brain. How could he have been so _stupid_? This had been the endgame from the start! This was why he'd gone so easily. He'd wanted in. He'd wanted Q to plug the SD card into his computer. It had all been a trick. And he'd never suspected a thing.

Demanding an answer for his mistake, he felt the gnaw of powerlessness crash over him like a tidal wave.

Around him, the scurrying frenzy of his minions did little to reassure his fear and, as he watched, entirely helpless, a moment of realization washed over him. He whipped around, remembering his portable sitting on the table behind him, and immediately recognized his mistake. His screen was flashing red and black. A skull laughed at him and the words sent chills running up and down his spine.

_Not such a clever boy._

Q felt an unexpected wave of fear and nausea bubble up in the back of his throat. _It was a trap. It was a trap. He hacked us. It was a trap._ He swore profusely and, without thinking, grabbed his computer and yanked out the connecting cords. Even so, he knew what the result would be. The damage was done. Silva was in control of MI6. The rubik's cube had just fought back.

And he'd been the one to let him in.

Twice had he made a mistake. Twice he had to pay the price.

 _"I'm guessing this isn't standard procedure?"_ He heard his own voice shaking and he hated himself for it.

 _"Not even remotely."_ Bond's grim expression said everything. It was the only way. But that didn't mean Q had to like it. He didn't. Not at _all_.

_"So much for my promising career in espionage."_

And she was dead. Dead. He'd led Silva right to them. It was all his fault.

_NOT SUCH A CLEVER BOY._

He wondered briefly if she had had any idea what she was letting in, what kind of monster would eventually be her downfall. It had been his trail that had led Silva to Skyfall. He'd been at as much fault for her death as the rogue assassin. 

And then he'd nearly been captured in Austria trying to reign in the (by this time, he was sure Bond was partially insane) agent, shot at in an insane car chase, and thrown out of the cover of his laptops to disable Nine Eyes. He'd been sure he'd have been caught then. But, by some miracle, no one had made the connection. Quinten Miller, the infamous hacker, who supposedly was killed in a car crash (though he never drove and preferred to take the tube), and the new computer wiz Quartermaster of MI6. 

At least, that was what he'd thought. Six months had passed since the double-oh program had been shut down and everyone had been forced to either join a different part of the government or find a new job. Q's... _unique position._..made it almost impossible for him to find any other job, so, unbeknownst to anyone except M, he had continued to monitor the vitals of all the double-ohs. In theory, he was breaking every law ever written, but no one had ever caught him at it.

Until the previous night, when those hoodlums had attacked him in his own flat. He couldn't remember much of the event, only waking up in Medical what Moneypenny informed him was several hours later. He'd only been half awake, but he recalled the burning pain in his shoulder as the bullet was removed. Then he passed out again. The next time he awoke, he heard _two_ voices. And he recognized them both. 

_Moneypenny and Bond._

_What is Bond doing here?_ He didn't know the answer, but he could cut the tension in the air with a knife. Clearly, the two had been arguing. About what, he couldn't imagine. But it had sufficiently irked them both.

"Well," he coughed out sarcastically. "Isn't this welcoming?"

He heard both start at this and Moneypenny's hand slid into his once more and she squeezed his hand encouragingly. 

"Welcome back, Q." Bond's voice. Tired. Slightly exasperated. Just like Q whenever the agent was on a mission and decided to go against good advice. The irony was enough to bring a smirk to his lips, no matter how much even the slightest movement hurt. 

"Bond," Q grunted in way of greeting. _I'm dead. I have to be dead. That's the only logical conclusion._ He voiced these thoughts to Bond who couldn't help but snort. The pain in his shoulder flared up again and he barely held back a hiss. His brain shut down and he could barely think. "Moneypenny. Why...why...do I hurt?"

"You were shot, Q." Bond again. 

"Oh." The world faded in and out of focus. Q blinked, struggling to stay awake. Already, he could feel the little bit of strength draining. He wanted to explain everything, to tell the truth, but the words caught in his throat, along with an apology. He mumbled a few more coherent things before darkness encroached his vision and he sunk back into unconsciousness. 

_"Quinten?"_

The sound of knuckles against his door woke him from a dreamless sleep. His head snapped up from his keyboard and, groaning, he reached for his glasses, blinking away sleep. "Huh?"

"Quinten! Open up! I need to talk to you!"

He tipped his cup, eyeing the cold remains of the previous night's tea. With a snort and a mental note to make more, he set it back on the table, and leaving his laptop running, went to answer the door. He found an old friend standing anxiously on his doorstep.

"Callum." He stepped back from the door to let the man in. "What's wrong?" His friend barged into his apartment, startling the cats and sending them skittering for cover. He looked frightened as he flashed a glance at Quinten's computer before collapsing on the sofa.

"Whatever you are doing there," Callum said hastily, gesturing to the laptop. "Stop right now."

"What? Why?" Quinten hurried over to snatch up his computer. 

"They're on to you, mate. Your hacking. They found it. They might be on their way now! You need to get out! Lay low. Hide somewhere until this all blows over."

Surprisingly, Quinten was less worried than he'd expected. "They'll never catch me," he retorted. "Besides," he added with a cheeky grin. "I'm too valuable to them."

"Yes, keep telling yourself that," Callum snorted, standing up now, seemingly furious that Quinten wasn't heeding his warning. "But they _are_ coming. And if you don't stop, you're going to get busted. Please, be more careful. Stop hacking into police stations and focus on something more productive."

"Like MI6?" The smirk grew wider. 

"You didn't!" 

"I did." 

"How...how long did it..."

"Two hours."

"TWO.. _.two hours_?!"

"Yes, their security is not up to optimum performance," he shrugged. "Their fault. Not mine."

Callum snorted. "You're unbelievable, you know that? Not to mention insane. You keep this up, and you'll end up behind one of those desks, melting your brain on some top secret government project while I'm still here hacking small time banks."

Quinten pat him reassuringly on the back. "Don't talk like that," he protested. He grabbed his tea off of the table and started toward the kitchen to make a new batch. "I'm not going anywhere. And even all of MI6 could never drag me away."


	4. Chapter 3: After R Comes S

_I'm gonna change you like a remix. Then I'll raise you like a phoenix. ~Phoenix by Fall Out Boy_

"Ah, 007, come in."

M's voice was as hard and emotionless as always. He barely bothered a glance in the agent's direction before continuing his work of sorting and organizing papers into their appropriate piles. It was only when Bond elected to come in and stand instead of fidget in the director's favorite chair did Mallory finally decide to pay him mind. He slowly set the papers down and folded his hands neatly, arching an eyebrow. "Ms. Moneypenny told me you would be coming. It's...good to see you, Bond."

"You too, sir." 

"Now, I haven't the foggiest idea how Eve found you, but I can only guess you're here for Q." It was much more of a statement than a question. "There's no point denying it," Mallory went on as Bond frowned slightly. "I trust you found your way to Medical?" A muscle in his jaw twitched, perhaps hiding a smile. Bond preferred to remain emotionless albeit the small smirk that was curling onto the side of his lips as he reached for the bottle of alcohol M always kept on his desk for occasions such as this. "That's 'yes' then," M sighed. "And, how is he?"

"Incredibly weak," Bond answered, finally taking a seat now and crossing one leg over the other. "Whoever grabbed him did a great deal of damage. Not just physically. He woke up for a brief spell while I was there. He didn't know where he was and, by the way he looked at me, he could have been recalling a painful memory of something..." He noticed M's uncomfortable stare. "Or _someone._ Sir, what do you know?"

"Only what I've read in his file," Mallory responded. "As you know, Q was hired by your previous employer, and I'm afraid I never got a full look at it, but here." He reached into his desk and selected one of the several files. He handed it to Bond who took it and began flipping through the pages. 

"It's all redacted," Bond pointed out. He closed it with a snap. "Forgive me, sir, but, is there anything you _do_ know about Q?"

"I know he's an extremely smart man with enough secrets to bury the entire department and the willpower to do so if instigated. He was brought in after some of our IT specialists back-traced a hack in our department. It led us to his portable's I.P. address. He was brought on as an alternative to a life-time prison sentence for treason. That's all I know. I never asked. Don't ask, don't tell. Keeps my job more simple."

"And you don't find it... _odd_...that you managed to find him?" Bond inquired. "Sir, I've seen Q's work. He's not prone to mistakes."

"And yet, he's human. He slipped up. We caught him. Case closed." 

Bond didn't think it was such an open and shut case, but M was still his boss and he knew he had to respect his wishes, and merely expressed his displeasure with a scoff into his bourbon. Fortunately, M continued before he could say something he'd regret. 

"What did you find out about his assailants?" Mallory went back to sorting, leaving the question dangling. 

"Nothing," Bond answered immediately. "He doesn't know anything. He can't remember. Or is too afraid to."

M paused at this. He frowned even deeper. "Explain." 

"Sir," Bond leaned up in his seat. "I think Q knows more about his attack than he is letting on. But I also don't think he's going to tell us anything while confined to Medical. He hates it there. Almost as much as I do."

"I see. And what is it you're proposing I do? Send him home? Where he was just assaulted?"

"No, but upon arrival he requested to go straight to Q-branch. He didn't care about his own safety, even though he was severely injured. I believe he wants to find something. He just needs--" His revelation was interrupted by a soft knock on the door and he turned, confused, as a young blond girl he didn't recognize stuck her head through the door nervously. 

"Mr. Mallory, sir?" she said in hardly more than a whisper. 

"Ah, S, welcome." Mallory stood up and adjusted his suit professionally as the girl cautiously stepped into the room. "Please, have a seat." He gestured to the chair next to Bond who raised his eyebrows at her as she gently slid into the chairs. "And it's M, please." Bond coughed. "Oh, of course. Allow me to make introductions. S, James Bond, 007. Bond, this is S, our third in command of Q-branch."

They shook hands and exchanged formalities. And, as the girl gave a slightly more relaxed smile and slid back into her seat, Bond realized something. "Your accent," he blurted. "It's not British."

S gave him a big smirk now. "Nicely done, Mr. Bond. I'm not English."

Bond thought for a moment before responding. "You have a slur to your words, so you must be from America. But, yet, there's a twinge of something else there. Southern, perhaps? The state of Texas?"

"Arizona. Very close."

"Well, if you don't mind me asking, how did you end up here in MI6 if you're American? CIA not satisfactory these days?"

S beamed. "Liason," was her simple response. "Your Q and I have been conversing electronically for around a year now. It was his idea to bring me here. Speaking of which, I'd still like to meet him and thank him personally." She twisted back toward Mallory. "Do you think it's be okay if I went to see him now, sir?"

M and Bond shared a glance. "I suppose it would be all right, as long as 007 agrees to escort you." He looked pointedly at Bond who nodded. "Very well. Then that'll be all. 007, when you have delivered S to Medical, report to Tanner. He's got your mission briefing."

"Tanner?" Bond raised an eyebrow.

"Don't lecture me, Bond," Mallory sighed. "Now get out of my office before I have to shoot you."

Bond stood up and felt S doing the same beside him. "Sir." With that, he started toward the door. He had almost opened it when M went on.

"And, Bond?"

"M?"

"Be... _nice_ to this girl, could you? I'd rather she remained in one piece during her time with us." Mallory's voice held an edge of warning to it. Bond didn't reply as he steered S from the office and toward the elevator, passing and nodding to Moneypenny in the hall. Eve flashed him a confused glance as S nearly skipped past. Bond shrugged. _She's young_ , he mentally communicated. He didn't know if Moneypenny understood, but he found himself being drug toward the elevators before he could be sure.

All the while, S was rambling. "Do you think he'll like me? I know I don't exactly look like a tech-person, but I'm _very good_ with computers. That's how I got into the CIA after all." 

It took Bond a moment to process her words and realize that the 'he' she was referring to was Q and that she was nervously going on about how she was afraid Q'd think she was too young. _Clearly, she's never had a face to face with our Quartermaster_ , Bond mused to himself. She looked as though she could be Q's age, or just slightly older. Late twenties, early thirties possibly, and although Q refused to reveal his age, it was a safe bet that he'd hadn't reached his fortieth birthday just yet. 

"Mr. Bond?"

He turned, startled at the title, to find S staring up at him hopefully. "Do you think I'd make a good field agent?" 

From first impression, Bond was tempted to say no. Too young, too innocent, _way_ too talkative, but something stopped him. She had spirit. She reminded him a bit of himself when he first entered MI6. Maybe one day. Not soon, but someday. 

Fortunately, he was saved from answering by the shrewd ding of the elevator and, as the doors slid open, Bond decided to ask a question of his own. "S," he spoke as she took the lead and he walked quickly to keep pace. "In the CIA, I know they don't use such vague code names to hide identities."

She twisted to give him a wry smirk. "You're trying to get my name," she observed. "I've heard all about you, Mr. Bond. Rest assured, I know your methods. I'm flattered, but I'm not interested in dating anyone."

"I'm married." The words sounded foreign on his tongue. 

She snorted a laugh. "Destiny."

"Indeed," Bond agreed. Then, he paused to think. "Wait... _what_?"

"My name," she answered as they rounded the bend and Bond's eyes met the guard's that he'd previously blown past. S, however, promptly went over to get her badge scanned and was nodded through. Bond followed her, feeling the man's suspicious gaze follow him. "It's Destiny."

"Beautiful," Bond murmured. "Last name?"

She smiled. "We'll see." And that's all she'd give him as they reached Q's bed and she seemed to grow lead in her shoes as her eyes fell on him.

Bond brushed past her and sat down on the bed across from Q and shook the young man's shoulder. "Q, wake up," he ordered. 'You've got company." Q moaned and made an unconscious motion to brush Bond's hand away and mumbled something incoherent. " _Now,_ Q, or I'll just mosey over to your flat and set all of your cardigans on fire."

Q grunted and slowly opened his eyes. "007..." he wheezed. "Go...within.. _.ten feet._..of my flat...and I'll...send you into your next firefight with...a... _glitter_... _gun_." With that, he struggled to sit up and look dignified. As much so as he could with part of his favorite cardigan torn around his shoulder where the bullet had been removed, sling holding his arm in place, and bruises all over his face and throat. 

S tried to smother a laugh behind the back of her hand as Bond sighed and Q's unfocused gaze fell on her. His glasses lay on the unused table beside him but he made no move to collect them. "Hello," S stammered, trying and failing to lose the grin. "A-are you Q?" 

"I am. And you are...?"

"Oh, sorry, yes. I'm S. We spoke online." She reached out to shake his hand. His left one. It was a bit of a difficult transition, but Q calmly took her hand and shook it cordially.

"Pleasure to meet you officially," he said, giving her a small reassuring smile. "My apologies for not meeting you at the airport, but, as you can see..." He held up the sling ruefully. "I'm a bit...tied up. But, tell me..." He settled back into a more comfortable position. "How are you enjoying London so far?"

"Well," S seemed to relax instantly, apparently realizing that, despite his cold outer appearance, he wasn't boring or icy. "It's rainy."

Bond snorted. _Stereotype of England._

S cracked a smile before going on. "But I think the city is quite beautiful. The Thames.. _.wow_ , is that _really_ how you pronounce it?" She went on before either could answer. "This place is incredible. A bit... _catchy_...but nice. Much prettier than the CIA's."

Q relaxed. "Yes, I have been told we are a few up on the 'spy agencies cleanliness ladder'. Bond, my glasses?" He twisted slowly to face James. 

"Next to you. On the table."

"I'll get them," S volunteered, hurrying to collect them. In her haste, she fumbled and dropped them, then proceeded to step on them. The crunch was horrendous. "Oh _no_ ," she groaned. "Q, I am _so_ sorry!"

"It's all right," Q said, though his voice was strained. "I have a pair of spares in the lab. Speaking of which, Bond, get me out of here. I have work to do." He reached blindly for Bond's hand and the agent helped his shaky Quartermaster to his feet. 

"Are you sure, Q?" Bond questioned as the man's legs shook and he nearly lost his balance. "Medical hasn't cleared you to return to work."

"Like you give a dime what Medical thinks," Q retorted with the same cheeky grin he'd given the agent the first time they'd met. The one saying he knew he'd won and was just showboating for the sake of it. "I have agents in the field, 007. I _have_ to get back to work."

"All right, Q, take it easy," Bond warned as the quartermaster tried to take a step forward and almost fell. "S, if you'd please, take his other side. Bloke's heavier than he looks." S hurried to obey and together, they heaved Q up and steered him toward the door.

The guard stood up abruptly as they passed and opened his mouth to protest, but one look from Bond shut him up and he sunk meekly back into his chair miserably. They received several odd looks as they hobbled to Q-branch. Once they were in the elevator and Q could lean against the wall without the support of the others, S began bombarding him with questions about the functions of the tech department, and to Bond surprise, Q answered them quickly and openly. Bond raised an eyebrow at the Quartermaster's sudden change. He'd never seen him so open and talkative. He guessed it had something to do with S sharing his love for computers. They probably had bonded instantly. "A boffin thing," Q had once told him. "You wouldn't understand." He had said it with the utmost pride, and now Bond saw why. 

The elevator spit them out on the bottom floor and they easily passed through security and emerged into the midst of a busy crowd, shuffling and jostling them every which way. 

"This is my least favorite part," Q mumbled as he ducked his head and tried to appear inconspicuous. 

"Stay close to me," Bond warned S. To his surprise, he felt her immediately grab his hand. It was an unconscious gesture, one she didn't seem to be aware of. He glanced over at her, but her eyes were focused straight in front of her as they headed down to the docks and boarded a speed boat. A man was already there waiting for them. "S, Tanner." Bond sighed as he took a seat near the back. 

S smiled as she let go of him to greet Bill. "Yes, we've met. Good to see you again, sir."

" _'Sir_ '?" Tanner laughed. "I like the sound of that. She blows you out of the water, Bond."

"Tanner." Bond grunted as Q stumbled aboard and feverishly took a seat with his back to the water, trembling in his oversized coat (that looked a bit like it was eating him, in Bond's opinion).

"Yes?"

"Just drive."

Tanner chuckled, and as S took a seat, he revved the engine, and they were off. The majority of the journey was made in silence. S stared at the water as it whooshed past and she smiled as they reached the catacombs and Tanner maneuvered them inside. 

"Whoa," S breathed as the boat pulled alongside the shore and Bond led the way, tying the boat to the shore and proceeding to help the others out. S nearly skipped in excitement as she turned a full circle, staring at the lights buried deep into the structure of the crypt. "This is so cool!"

"It is, isn't it?" Q said as he passed, stumbling over a crack in the pavement. He yelped and threw out his good arm to catch himself. S lunged to help, but he just shook his head. "No, I'm fine. Thank you. Just...a little unsteady." Before anyone could say anything that could potentially put him back in Medical, he pressed a button, calling the lift, and showed S the way to the underground labs. The younger girl seemed in heaven as they arrived and she got her first look at Q-branch. 

As Q happily showed her around, Bond separated from Tanner and wandered over to Q's desk, noticing all of the disorderly papers and bits and pieces of metal lying around. He raised his eyebrows at a few of the blueprints for unusual concoctions. A lazar in a button and an explosive yo-yo. Bond was half disappointed not to find any designs for pens.

He heard Tanner settle down a few desks down and was about to turn and ask hima question when he spotted the laptop lying unused on the desk. It didn't look like Q's. But it was on his desk. Curious, Bond moved around the table to investigate, noting the cords hooking it directly to Q's desktop, gently picking up the portable as though it might be rigged to explode. Light. Lacking Q's general array of stickers. Was it new? 

Quickly, he glanced around to make sure Q didn't see him, and then he opened the lid. He watched as the screen fizzled from black to blue and, slowly, words began to pixelate onto the monitor.

"BOND! _NO_!" 

Q's panicked voice was enough to cause the agent to drop the laptop. Q ran toward him and S was right behind, but the damage was already done. Bond watched as the screen flashed a variety of colors. He heard the gasps of surprise from the minions and he glanced up as all the screens in the vicinity flashed the same picture as the laptop.

Q slid into his chair and roughly shoved Bond out of the way, starting to type wildly at the keys, inserting lines of code. But as soon as he entered, they'd disappear as though eaten by some kind of monster virus. "What in the..." Q hissed at his computer before setting back to work.

"Sir!" someone spoke up from the computers. Q whipped around at their call. A man stood. "We've lost all access of our devices!"

"Restart and begin running the defense protocols!" Q snapped. 

"I'll go help them!" S called, darting over to a spare computer and sliding a pair of headphones over her ears. 

"What can I do?" Bond questioned.

"Stay out of the way," Q snarled as he settled back to work. "And _don't touch anything_!" He was typing furiously, his fingers flying over the keys. Even in a sling, he was moving faster than Bond had ever seen him. Codes flashed off of his glasses and he growled adiably as they were gobbled up by the screen.

Everything suddenly froze and Q lurched back from his keys as huge words simultaneously flashed across all of the screens.

_Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, SPY._

"Oh no," Q breathed as the words melted like butter and ran off of the page. Everyone in Q-branch had gone deathly still. All eyes fell on their Quartermaster and S removed her headphones and twisted her chair to face him. "No, no, _no_!" 

"Q, what is it? What's going on?" Bond demanded.

Flashing letters appeared on the screens once more. 

_Hello, Quartermaster._

And then, the power to all electronics in the building were cut and everything was plunged into darkness.

Q took a deep breath and pushed himself out of his chair to address his minions. "Ladies and Gentlemen," he said in the calmest voice he could muster. "Evacuate to SIx immediately. Use your training. _Go_." The seriousness of his tone was enough to gain an immediate reaction. Chairs scraped across the floor as dozens of techies grabbed their computers and made a hasty retreat for the exit.

"That goes for you two as well!" Q snapped as he snatched up S's headphones and set to work. 

"What about you?" Bond demanded as he and S shared a knowing look. S immediately pulled over a chair and brought up her portable, connecting to the fried wifi and joining Q. 

"If you're staying, then we are too," she informed him when he gave her a confused look. "So, tell us what to do!"

Q looked like he wanted to protest, possibly force them into the lift, but at the same time, knew he'd never be able to do it. Not one handed. "All right," he caved. "Bond, guard the door. S, help me with the coding and..." He trailed off of a high pitched squealing rang throughout the building. "Darn!" He spun to a second computer, not plugged into the central system, and quickly brought up the security footage. Five armed men. Positioned outside. They captured or shot every tech that came out. " _No!_ " Q cried, turning away abruptly, his eyes already moistening as he saw the mound of bodies rising. His minions, his co-workers, his _responsibility_.

And then everything went from bad to worse. 

The room was filled with a loud groan as the lift began to lower. 

Q's eyes flicked between the screens and the approaching lift. "They're coming down." His voice was cold with dread. 

Bond cocked his weapon and aimed it at the doors. "Q, take S. Get to cover," he ordered. 

"Right," Q put an arm around S and steered her away from the middle of the room, urging her to take cover behind some owner-less desks. "Bond?"

"Q?" Bond replied, watching as the shadow of the lift came into view.

"Don't die. You still owe me a car." With that, the Quartermaster ducked down, disappearing from view. 

Bond snorted at the young man's choice of words. It was his unique way of saying, _"Don't die. I think of you as a friend. I don't have a lot of those and I'd really appreciate the ones I do staying in one piece."_ He checked the cartridge of his gun and waited as the doors slowly creaked open.

The men were ready to kill as they stepped from the lift, guns poised to strike.

And so was Bond.

He let off the first shot. It drove into the first man's chest and he promptly fell over, dead, and the others spun immediately, training their weapons on him. 

A firefight ensued. 


	5. Postmortem

The first gunshot rang out moments after he ducked next to S and braced himself for the worst. His heart pounded furiously in his ears and his breath was tight as he flattened himself against the cement and watched the battle unfold between two desks. Beside him, S tensed and leaned over toward his shoulder. He felt her hand move into his and he squeezed reassuringly. Bond would handle the intruders. He'd certainly dealt with worse. All Q had to do was keep himself and S out of the way until the fight was over. And then he could get back to solving the conundrum of _who_ crashed his apartment and _how_ they managed to hack him in his own department.

The words from the screen flashed through his brain _. Spy._ Someone had known who he was. He didn't know how anyone knew. His true identity was locked away in a metaphorical iron box, wrapped in metal chains, and buried at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean. It was supposed to be impossible to find. But yet, someone had managed to find him. Someone knew who he was, and they knew he worked for MI6.

_Spy._

Whoever had found him apparently also held a grudge. No one else would go to such extreme measures to find and hack him. Especially in such a flashy manner.

Was it someone from 007's past? An old enemy of Bond's perhaps? Coming back to take revenge on MI6? He certainly had enough of those. But, no, it couldn't be. With the exception of Oberhauser, Q was rather sure all of Bond's enemies were dead.

And besides, they had seemed much more intent on Q and his branch. Any enemy of Bond's would go after Swann or straight to the heart of MI6, not attack a bunch of unarmed techies.

_Hello, Quartermaster._

"Hey," S whispered as she grabbed his shoulder and used him to have herself forward to peer through the same peephole as Q, ignoring his grunt of surprise. "How'd they even get in here? How clever did they have to be to get this far?"

_Not such a clever boy._

_Silva?_ He felt a shudder run up and down his spine at S's unintentional choice of words. Even though he knew it was impossible He'd watched the footage multiple times. Silva was dead. No question about it. He'd seen the body to prove it. _What if it hadn't been--No_. He refused to think like that.

"Q?" S's grip became almost constricting and her voice was hoarse from trying to whisper. "What's going to happen?"

He wanted to reassure her, to tell her that Bond would get them out safely. But he knew he had to be honest. "I don't know," he confessed, and he felt her grip grow tighter. "But we best be ready in case--what are you doing?" He'd glanced over at her at this moment and found her reaching for something on her belt. His eyes widened as she pulled out a small pistol and checked the barrel. "Strange," he went on flatly. "I didn't know technicians carried firearms."

"Well, when you work in a profession such as mine," S said as she snapped the cover back on and cocked it. "You tend to learn to expect the unexpected."

Q merely hummed. He'd never heard of a computer hacker carrying a weapon, but he supposed the CIA might operate differently than MI6.

"What's it look like out there?" S went on as she leaned forward once more. Q grunted but offered no further complaint as he adjusted his spare lenses and peered out at the gun fight.

"Not good," he answered. "I can see five hostiles. Two are barricading the door...I don't get it. Are they trying to block us in? Anyway...Bond's taken cover behind my desk and... _good heavens,_ 007! That is _not_ an armored tank! It costs more than all of your paychecks _combined!"_ Even in the midst of a firefight, Bond _couldn't quit_ destroying Q's perfectly good property!

"Would you rather I got _shot_?" Bond fired back as he let off another clip and another body hit the floor.

"I'd _rather_ not be in this situation _at all_!" Q screamed, the panic evident in his tone. He felt S's hold on him suddenly go from friendly to rough as she yanked him back away from the desks as the metal was hit with a spray of bullets.

Bond fired two more shots, warning only. The pattering of metal upon metal faded as the attackers once more focused their attention on the 00.

"We have to help."

Q twisted to face her, flabbergasted. "Are you _mad_? What could _we_ do? S, I can't even _fire a gun_!"

"Then we'll just have to--DOWN!" Without warning, she pounced on top of him, brandishing her gun and letting off two shots, sending an assassin staggering backward to the floor.

"S...can't... _breathe_...get off... _pleas_ e," Q gasped as the pain in his chest exploded at the sudden pressure. The woman obeyed hastily, scrambling to her feet, weapon still poised to strike. Q rolled over, heaving, and pushed himself onto all fours. 

"Are you all right?" she snapped, glancing back at him as she dropped to one knee to scan the room as the last of Bond's bullets ran out and he tossed the weapon aside and went right in for the old fashioned style of kicking the men's weapons away and taking them down with two powerful strikes to the solar plexus. 

"I think so," Q hissed, pulling himself to knees with his good hand. 

"Oh, I'm just brilliant too," Bond added, leaning backward across the table. "Thanks _so much_ for your concern."

"Concern later!" S said, pointing to the monitors. "We've got another front two minutes out!"

"Q?"

"On it!" Q heaved himself up, yanking his laptop from his satchel and furiously typing in the code. "There!" he announced triumphantly, striking the enter key and looking up at the waiting agents. "I switched off the main lift. That should slow them down a tad!"

"Brilliant," Bond growled. "Now why don't we just get _ourselves_ out of this mess?"

"Great!" S exclaimed. "And _how_ exactly do we plan to do that?"

"Ah," Q grunted, "And _therein_ lies the problem. There is only one door, and unfortunately, those guys are blocking it."

"Well, isn't there another way out?" S cried in exasperation. "Like, some sort of secret passage to drive off in all of those fancy cars I've heard so much about?" 

A light sparked in Q's eyes. "That's it! S, you're brilliant!" 

"I am?" she replied, surprised. "I mean, _naturally,_ but, do you think you can tell me what I did that made me so?"

"Yes! This way!" He grabbed her hand and drug her after him. "Bond! Over here!" He signaled to the agent as he raced across the lab at a speed he had no idea he could accomplish, and heaved open a side door, ushering them inside, just as the second wave of assassins arrived. S yelped as she yanked the door shut and several bullets plunked off of it.

"Come on," Q hissed, shouldering his way past them and heading off down the corridor. "The door is locked magnetically. It will only hold them for a short time. Hurry up."

He led them down a dimly light hall. Behind them, the sounds of the intruders ramming against the metal barrier rang through the darkness. Q shuddered as he reached the opposite door and jerked it open, revealing a bright room with a large elevator. In the center was a newly upgraded Cadillac.

"Oh, _nice!"_ S laughed, hurrying past him to investigate the vehicle. "Q, you must really travel in _style_!"

"Actually, I drive a Mini Cooper," Q answered with a small smirk as he fished around in his pockets for the keys, tossing them to Bond who caught them in one swift movement. "Not a scratch, 007."

Bond only smiled and ducked into the driver's seat.

Q growled, ushering S into the passenger seat and sliding in behind her. "Up the elevator, Bond," he instructed, leaning forward to be heard. "Straight ahead."

Bond obliged, slamming his foot against the gas and sending the car flying forward.

Q yelped and grabbed his armrest, squeezing his eyes shut as the door behind them blew open and bullets rang out. Glass all around him shattered, and he ducked, covering his head with his arms.

"GO, GO, GO!" S yelled, ducking as a bullet took out her side mirror.

The next time Q glanced up from his crash position, they were barreling down the main street from the Thames. The shooters were left behind in the dust, and they finally were able to catch their breaths as Bond expertly navigated them into the rush hour traffic near the heart of London

"We're clear," he announced a short time later.

"Thank goodness," S sighed, leaning back in her seat and letting out a long sigh of relief. "That was _crazy_! And this is what you deal with _every_ _day_?"

"Well, not everyday," Q answered, slouching down in his seat and removing his glasses with a wince. "Most days, we just spend all of our time filling out the paperwork for when things like _this_ happen. Speaking of which, Bond--"

"No can do," 007 replied, veering around a corner and diving deep into the backstreets of the city. "MI6 has been breached. We have to assume the main branch has been compromised also."

"So where are we going?" S inquired, leaning up curiously.

"We're going to follow protocol," Q answered for the agent. "In the event of a security breach, all agents are to report to the safehouse until a proper investigation can be run."

Bond glanced at him in the rearview mirror. "It will give M a chance to see what happened, and also let us make sure that you're all right. Can't have our Quartermaster bleeding on the upholstery, can we?"

"I'm _fine_ , Bond," Q insisted. "Really. Just a scratch." He put his glasses back on to stare evenly at the blond.

"All right, fine," 007 gave in. "But if you bleed out before we can get you medical attention, it isn't my fault."

"Deal."

" _Deal_."

The rest of the trip was made in silence. S soon drifted off, worn out by the unexpected turn of events. Bond was unusually silent. He continuously checked the backseat while Q stared out the window absentmindedly, the moments right before the attack rushing through his head. Who could have tracked them down so easily? They were careful. It was a safety precaution. Never take the same route to work twice, never tell anyone who you really were (though, Bond had broken that one a quarter-of-a-million times), and never, _never_ trust anyone. 

So, who was this person?

_How_ did they know Q worked for MI6?

And _why_ were they trying to kill him?


	6. Veni, Vidi, Vici

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A flight into the dangerous world of a bad guy who is...really bad.

Night was falling as the vehicle pulled up to the front gates of an old, thrice forgotten mansion. Black iron bars and ugly gargoyles welcomed it with demonized grins and snarls, but the passengers in the vehicles paid no attention to the structure's foreboding appearance. It was what was inside that interested them. Or rather, _who._

They were waiting for them when they arrived, seated at an extravagantly long table in a dimly lit room. Perhaps this should have been their first warning, a sign that not everything was as it should be, that the plan had not fully gone the way it had been supposed to. 

Of course, the man sitting at the head of the table, face shrouded by a hood and gloved hands laced delicately did not go _at all_ to ease the mens' anxieties as they cautiously took their seats around the table, glancing from one member of the party to another, all sharing one another's discomfort and fear.

"The mission was a _failure._ "

The voice from the head of the table was colder than death and spat in a hiss. The new arrivals cringed away, terror etched across their faces. They had _failed_. Their mission was incomplete.

"The Quartermaster survives."

Whispers rose among the hooded crowd, rising like thunder to the ceiling as a raging storm. How? _How_ was this possible? The underground layer had been destroyed! Every living being that had come through the doors had been executed.

_Except for three._

In an instant, the assassins all realized their mistake. They had been misinformed. They had been told three _agents_ had escaped, not _two agents_ and the _darn Quartermaster they had been sent to eliminate._

The man at the end of the hall was not impressed. His fingers rapped soundlessly against the smooth marble table as his black soulless glare swept over the goons.

"So, _tell me_... _how exactly_ did you lose the target?"

The men glanced at one another, all waiting for the other to speak, to risk _their_ life instead. An awkward silence befell the hall, broken only by the nervous exhales of a huddled figure hidden from view.

" _Well?"_

"Sir," one timid voice spoke. A younger man leaned forward to address his boss. "With all due respect, the mission was not a _complete_ failure. We _did_ learn something. MI6 has _weaknesses._ Weaknesses we could easily exploit! Their technology, their so-called _Q-branch,_ is hidden on the Thames, their agents are still dealing with repercussions from the death of their previous commander and...to be fair, sir, their new M...to put it bluntly, is an idiot. He will follow the protocol _to the tee._ I've read all about it! Anyone who survived will be shuttled off to a safe house until decisive action can be taken. _That's_ what their Quartermaster will do. _That's_ how we will kill him."

There was silence once again as the room pondered to consider this possibility. The head man sat back and once more looked contemplative. "I see. And you think you can deliver the boy, Darkwing?"

"I _know_ I can, sir," came the reply. 

"Very well. See that you do. And to be sure you don't forget...Peters, you were in charge of the last mission, were you not?"

The graying man's head shot up in alarm and his eyes bulged fearfully. "Y-yes, sir. I...I was, but--"

Almost faster than the eye could follow, the hooded figure whipped out a pistol and fired. Peters let out a gasp and tumbled backward from his chair. He was dead before he hit the ground. All around him, the assassins jumped away, hissing in disgust, silently grateful it hadn't been them. 

The man pocketed the weapon and turned back to face a shocked Darkwing. "Bring me the Quartermaster, or your fate will be worse than death. Do I make myself clear, soldier?"

"Very." Darkwing steeled his gaze and squared his shoulders, standing up and giving his employer a small nod of recognition. Better not to irk the man holding the gun, he decided. Later he could make his move. When it was all clear. But for now...for now he would lay low and wait. 

The moment would present itself and he would be ready. 

A man who hid behind a mask was not a _true_ man. Soon, his employer would make a mistake. His plan would crumble...

...and Darkwing would be ready to take over.

And then, no more cat and mouse.

All of MI6 would be destroyed, starting with one painstakingly annoying excuse for a hacker. 

And he knew _just_ how to do it.


End file.
